


Void

by HeadJams



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadJams/pseuds/HeadJams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post CoLS. Contains SPOILERS.</p>
<p>Dionae Stragno, Damien Marlowe and De-de Lake. One in the same.</p>
<p>She - though sometimes he - is a Warlock who deals in favours as currency. And as a favour to a heart-broken Magnus, she steps in suddenly to take the position of High Warlock of Brooklyn. </p>
<p>Behind a curtain she's bound to keep closed from the eyes of the Clave and the world. Cracks begin to form in the table of Great Warlocks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>"I promise you. There is nothing that is truly beyond forgiveness."</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Letters

June, 1692 - Massachusetts

> _Dearest Ragnor,_
> 
> _I fear that I have found myself in a small pocket of trouble._
> 
> _Mundanes with The Sight have unknowingly banded with Shadowhunters - calling themselves 'Witch Hunters' - and are trapping and trialling those who call themselves Witch, Wicca, Sorcereress or Psychic. I find myself bound by an unknown force to Salem Town, like a great bird cage has been placed over its perimeter and I am but a pretty canary, unable to escape._
> 
> _The fires of the trial lick at my feet, but I am not done yet._
> 
> _I must go, I hear men at the door._
> 
> _Dionae Stragno._

Ragnor, folded the letter twice, and placed it into the box with the others. He could be in Massachusetts within the hour. As a gentleman, he couldn't allow a lady to stand trail for crimes - that while she probably did commit - she'd be put to death for. The 'unknown force' she spoke of would be his first trail to overcome before blindly trapping himself in a Witch Hunt.

* * *

December, 1878 - Chicago

Damien Marlowe straightened his coat and cravat in the mirror, giving a gentle nod to the man - Gregory, a gentleman's gentleman - handing him his cane and hat.

"Are you sure you do not wish me to accompany you sir?" he asked, only so forward after many years of getting used to his employers lax attitude to propriety. He had the sight, and knew of his employers position as high Warlock of Chicago in the Downworld, and was often charged with the duty of ferrying Dr Marlowe's clients to and from the house. He held the door open for Mr Marlowe.

"I'll be quite all-right Gregory," he said, touching his manservant's face and then shoulder with a far more affection than expected for a man to display to another man. "Wouldn't want you inadvertently turned to a werewolf should I lose a handle on the situation." he smiled softly, turning from the house and down the steps.

"And what do you wish me reply to Mr Fell, you never said?" added Gregory, Damien had hoped he'd forget.

Damien hopped up the stairs again, leaning on his iron-handled cane as he spoke "He addressed the letter to Miss Stragno?"

"He did sir"

"Inform him that;" he thought for a moment "Miss Stragno is... unavailable, and that I shall be arriving in her stead" he checked his pocket watch "tomorrow. Use the bird."

>   
> _To: Mr Ragnor Fell, High Warlock of London  
> _ _From: Dr Damien Marlowe, High Warlock of Chicago_
> 
> ___Dearest Mr Fell,_  
>  _I regret to inform you that Miss Dionae Stragno is currently unavailable to receive your correspondence,  
> _ _however, your news of this unmarked Warlock girl has piqued my interest and I shall be arriving tomorrow.  
>  _Your friend,  
> __ _Dr Damien Marlowe._  
> 

* * *

November, 1940 - London

> _My Dearest Ragnor,_
> 
> _I hope this letter finds you in good health. I know we parted last on ill terms - and I admit that in better circumstances I wouldn't be writing to you, but the face of death makes us re-visit our mistakes._
> 
> _A great darkness bows over Europe, a darkness that the Mundanes themselves have drawn, I feel it dwelling in the back of my mind and it does not bare thinking about. Demons and Downworlders alike flee the cities Mundanes take as refuge, yet I fear, for the first time in my long life, that even running could not lengthen my life beyond the coming decade._
> 
> _I do not wish to dwell on fault (though I know it is my own), only to move forward on feeling I am aware that I have often overlooked up till now._
> 
> _I cannot write what I mean to say. There are words or course, words that I could shout until heaven and hell themselves demanded my silence, however to write them would take my passion from them, yet surely you know?_
> 
> _Yours, forever,_
> 
> _De-de Lake_
> 
>   
> _P.S. If you'll have me that is._  

* * *

2007 - Just outside Alicante.

Ragnor cast his eyes over her familiar, gentle script; holding the now coarse, fine paper as if it were priceless. There were times in the 1870's when someone else had written her letters, doing a very clever trick of replicating her hand, and the rare letter in the 1940's that she'd typed, using stationary with the British Royal Seal embossed at the top.

_Marlowe. Stragno. Lake._

Her dry humour hadn't changed, and he hoped it never did. Just as he began to shuffle the letters neatly back into their box, a foul smell stung his nose. He only just had time to stash the box away safely before the world seemed to explode from every angle.


	2. Limerick

Alec felt as if his insides had turned to fire and ice at the same time. Then he was thrown up, up into the atmosphere and the world was suddenly so small, earth shooting away from him as he became weightless, thrown around in the gravities of other, greater planets, great star systems spread out in front of him in beautiful, awe-striking elegance, their harmonies singing around him. And among the sweet tones of the stars, a voice called out to him, soft and so faintly teasing, strong arms encircling him, pulling him into their warmth. It was glitter and Sandalwood and home. He sighed a word into the airless void.

"Magnus."

Only once, it was all his oddly solid lungs could manage, but enough that the man he loved knew he was listening, was hearing him.

* * *

 

Jace had carried a delirious, heavily poisoned Alec halfway across town, running faster than he ever had, his Speed and Strength runes long burnt out by the time he got to the institute He kicked through the infirmary doors and placed Alec gently onto a bed. Carefully, he disentangled his Parabatai's fist from the front of his shirt, only for him to swiftly grab onto his hand, holding it firmly.

He'd called for Magnus in his semi-conscious state, clearly mistaking Jace for the Warlock, something that Jace didn't mind, but it hurt to hear the gentle, unfamiliar tone of adoration in his Parabatai's voice, especially as his body writhed in pain.

Jace held onto his brother's hand with both of his own as Maryse burst into the infirmary, Isabelle hot on her heels.

Maryse went to work without a single word, detaching Alec's gear and adding Healing and Pain-Killing runes where they were due. She didn't ask Jace to move away, and he was glad of it, he couldn't have detached his hands from Alec's even if he'd wanted to.

But when the Silent Brothers arrived, and Alec's hand started to go slack between his, they were banished from the room.

* * *

 

Hours later, when the sun had begun to rise, not long after Jace and Isabelle had finally been convinced to get some rest - in their beds, as opposed to on the floor, where they'd been most of the night - the door to the infirmary opened. Maryse froze where she was, the three Silent Brothers stood in front of the infirmary doors as they closed behind them.

There words were as soft as the Silent Brothers could be she supposed.

_There is nothing our skills can do for him now. The venom has no cure we know of. He is not in pain, but he will not survive the day._

Jace held Alec's hand again. He could feel the bond between them growing steadily tighter, the coiling pressure behind his Parabatai rune somehow choking him. Silent tears ran down Izzy's face as she held onto Alec's other hand. Maryse had disappeared the pain of losing another son too much for her.

One of the silent brothers had stayed behind, the other two retreating to Silent City to consult their archives.

Izzy had text Magnus, and although neither of them knew why they'd broken up, they'd both been sure that he'd show up.

 

_Alec's been poisoned_   
_And he's asking for you. SB say_   
_he won't make it._

 

She knew very well that Magnus didn't want to hear from any of them, and she'd honoured that, she fully intended to until they got back together. After emerging from his room after a week of locking himself in it and not speaking to anyone aside from a snapped "Me and Magnus broke up. He doesn't want to hear from any of you." through the door after Isabelle had stood outside talking at it for nearly an hour, threatening to go to Magnus and ask him. Surely whatever had happened wouldn't matter now Alec was dying.

* * *

 

For the third time in the past twelve hours the doors of the infirmary were blown open; this time pushed open by a tallish woman with long brown hair, who clearly had little care for, or simply did not notice the atmosphere in the room. Brother Zachariah remained where he stood, looking unharmed and undisturbed by her presence as the doors closed slowly behind her.

"Magnus?" Isabelle had asked dumbly before she'd properly absorbed what she was looking at.

"Who're you?!" Jace demanded, as she marched up to the end of Alec's bed, and glanced over him.

She looked up at him like she'd not seen him as she'd come into the room. "Hello," she said, grinning as she took off her coat, which disappeared as she hung it in mid air, along with her umbrella and gloves.

Warlock. If it wasn't already blindingly obvious from the disappearing coat, the long, thin patch of scales on the outside of each of her arms were a dead giveaway. The lines of scales disappeared up under the sleeves of her cardigan - where they re-emerged on the back of her neck as Jace could see as she pulled her hair up into a knot - and extended down to her hands, where one side of each of her little fingers were covered by fine scales; the scales were a black-ish turquoise, but glinted a kind of polished rainbow in the light. Where she wasn't scaled, it seemed, she was tattooed, there were symbols and small non-angelic runes on her hands, lines of script in languages he didn't recognise and patterns decorated her arms and collarbone, the blue tail of something flicked out from the low neckline of her cardigan - it would seem she wasn't wearing anything underneath said cardigan and didn't seem to care that her cleavage was more than a little on display because of it - and a green triangle on each temple was the only tattoo that ventured above her chin.

"I asked who you were" demanded Jace, again, letting go of Alec's hand and standing to his full height.

"Who are any of us, Jason Herondale?" she answered cryptically, returning her attention to Alec, humming in thought.

"It's Jace Lightwood" he corrected sharply "Now who are you and how did you get in here?" No one would have let her into the building then not escorted her around.

She sighed and looked back at him, throwing out her arms weclomingly and bowing. "I am Dionae Lake, Warlock, Magician, and healer of the Manticorally poisoned." she seemed to hint, gesturing to Alec.

"The what?" asked Isabelle

"Him, he's been poisoned by a Manticore" she said, her fingers beginning to glitter with blue sparks "Which, by the way, is on it's way here."

"Here?" demanded Jace "Why would it come here, it's already ki-" he couldn't being himself to say it.

_A Manticore consumes all its prey_ said Brother Zachariah, having entered the room without making a sound _Leaving no trace of even clothing, then devouring all possessions of that it has killed. Or so the legends say._

"Indeed" said Dionae, regarding Brother Zachariah indifferently

"No deamon can get into the institute, so it doesn't matter-"

_The legend of the Manticore is just that, a legend._

"Actually, no, it isn't. Not by Warlock lore any how." corrected Dionae, interrupting him "And the Manticore isn't a demon, just your run-of-the-mill monster actually" she said, trying and failing to edge her way around Jace to get to Alec.

"There's no such thing as real monsters"

_Calm down Jace Herondale. Dionae Lake has skills beyond those of the Brothers._

Jace regarded Dionae for a moment, before stepping aside, apparently the blessing of the Brothers and his desperation to save Alec was enough to trust a stranger.

"I'm going to need either a mandible or a stinger from the Manticore, so when it gets here, if you could" she examined the would on Alec's chest, stripping away the bandages "Okay, yes, stinger, I'm going to need its tail" she said, meeting the incredulous looks of Isabelle and Jace. "Or I could let your brother die" she suggested. The two Lightwoods only waited for a moment before leaving to grab their weapons "Oh!" she said suddenly, before drawing a dagger from a pocket that didn't look deep enough to hold it, and handing it to Jace. "Go for the throat, watch out for the teeth" she added, baring her own as if to demonstrate.

* * *

Alec's eye's snapped open, he was short of breath and every inch of his body ached. He was aware that he was in the infirmary by the crisp white sheets and that there was somebody sat next to him, blue sparks flickering over the deck of cards they were fiddling with. "Magnus" he muttered in a daze, reaching out a hand. The deck of cards disappeared as his vision began to clear, the hand holding his had blue spirals pained on otherwise plain nails, a thumb stroked over the back of his hand. A thumb with a small non-angelic rune tattooed onto it.

"How're you feelin'?" they asked softly, a voice that was too feminine and too British to be Magnus.

It was darker than he'd thought as he tried to focus on her face. Slowly features blurred into shape. It was a girl he'd met before, in Idris. "Di.." He muttered, trying to remember what Magnus had called her as he pulled his hand away, followed by a stab of pain to his chest. Magnus wasn't here, of course he wasn't.

"I'm good, thanks" he muttered, turning his head away. Clearly whatever had happened to him, Magnus must have heard, because otherwise why would she be here.

"Sorry I'm not him" she said, a soft, understanding smile on her lips "I know it hurts when you can't have the one you love."

She'd spoken in the same way last time they'd spoken, in a tone of cool apathy, like she cared, but it didn't matter if you didn't listen or if you even heard what she was saying.

"He did send me though, and given that you were dying he would have been here if he could."

"I was dying?" he asked, choking on his own words, Dionae handed him a glass of something green that she'd conjured from nowhere as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. He took the green drink without question and sipped it cautiously. A warm sensation flooded down his throat and through his limbs, dulling the ache in his muscles.

"Yeah, Manticore poison, needs a magical cure." she said, rematerialising the deck of cards from before "Recuperation thing I've been working on, looks like it works, maybe not as well as your runes, but this is the best I can do for you." she added, answering the question before he could ask.

He nodded in thanks. So Magnus had sent her, but why couldn't he be here? Of course he couldn't be angry with Magnus for not being here, but the way she said it sounded like he didn't have a choice. He wondered maybe if it was to do with The Book of White, last time they'd met she'd been warning Magnus about making sure no one knew he had it, and making sure it stayed that way. Maybe someone had found out, and he'd had to leave, or maybe he'd simply just left, understandable that he couldn't bare to see Alec again and eliminating any chance of it happening.

She reached over and touched his knee lightly, drawing his attention. "There once was a woman from Leeds / Who swallowed a packet of seeds / In less than an hour / Her its were a flower / And her fanny all covered in weeds." she said with a grin

Alec could help the smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth "Um, what?"

"There was a young sailor named Bates / Who did the fandango on skates / He fell on his cutlass / Which rendered him nutless / And practically useless on dates." she grinned as Alec laughed.


	3. Debt

Isabelle and Jace bust into the Infirmary, covered in blood and ichor, their gear torn and looking generally worse for wear. They were greeted by the sight of Alec laughing like he couldn't help himself and Dionae sat on the chair next to him, feet propped up on the bed, animatedly describing some story or another, gesturing wildly with her hands.   
   
"So then he comes back and he say's 'By the name of the lord! What have you done to my table, girl?!' And of course, Ragnor had only gone and scarpered out the bloody window-!"   
   
"Oh do please tell us." said Jace, with just a hint of mock British accent. Who was happy to see Alec back to himself, but considering what Isabelle and himself had just gone through, he wasn't in the best of moods. Alec had the decency to stop chuckling, although apparently the story was funny enough that he couldn't keep a smirk from his face   
   
"Well I-"   
   
"We don't care." snapped Isabelle, before turning to Alec "You're alright?" she asked, somewhere between a concerned inquiry and an accusation.    
   
"Yeah, have been for a while now." he said, wondering what she was annoyed about.   
   
Isabelle bristled and rounded on Dionae, who didn't look the slightest bit phased, just smiling up at Isabelle and Jace like butter wouldn't melt. "I thought you needed this to heal him." she said, wielding a giant furry scorpion's tail at them. Alec flinched back, there was a viscous yellow-green acid dripping from the tip of the sting.    
   
"I never said that" she said plainly.   
   
"You did." insisted Isabelle through her teeth.   
   
"No no no, I said I need the stinger" she said, before waving her hand, the tail disappearing into a faint blue smoke. "Do you have any idea how much that stuff is worth? Certainly enough to make it worth my while to save his life."   
   
Jace stepped up to her "What the hell is wrong with you?!" he demanded. To wrung out, on edge and angry to think of something witty or wry.   
   
"Nothing Mr Herondale. Nothing at all." She stood up, not nearly as tall as Jace, then she pulled off her glasses. Without the filter of the yellow tinted lenses her dark green eyes became the brightest, most unnatural, most penetrating shade of green. "Why? What were you expecting? Were you expecting my help to be free? Not every Warlock who lays eyes on Alec falls in love with him you know." she spoke in a cool, indifferent tone, not even subtly threatening. Only her eyes hinted at the power that fizzed and bubbled behind them. "Not that you aren't very attractive, poppet." she said lightly, dropping Alec a wink. He smiled lightly back. Dionae put her glasses back on. "Besides," she turned back to Jace "You're lucky I don't charge both favors directly to Alec"   
   
"Both?" asked Isabelle, you was now perched on her brother's bed.   
   
Dionae stepped away from Jace and lifted her cardigan, the skin of her stomach was smooth other than a thin trail of very fine scales running down from her belly button; as they looked, something stirred beneath her skin, something moved, like it was trying to claw its way out of its fleshy cage.    
   
"Oh Angel..." Isabelle muttered, visibly green.   
   
"Baby Manticore had to go somewhere, got a very short gestation period, I doubt you would have noticed it until it started eating its way out of him at the funeral" She said, looking like she'd find that funny, and lowering her top, sitting back down. "It'll probably just die now I'm the host body, nothing fertile in there." she patted her belly.   
   
"Baby?!"   
   
"Well when a daddy Manticore likes a human very, very much-" she started to joke.   
   
"Yeah okay, I've got it." Jace said, he just hoped he'd never see another one ever again in his lifetime.   
   
"What's this favor thing then?" asked Jace, now visibly calmer but clearly still fighting an internal battle as he stood at the end of Alec's bed.   
   
"Well not everyone can afford the service of an all-powerful Warlock, so in turn for my services, you'll owe me a debt, one I can cash in at any time, for anything I ask." she explained, like that was somehow better than paying up-front.   
   
"What if I can't do it?" asked Alec, worried he'd owe her for the rest of his life.   
   
"I'm not going to ask you for something you can't give me." she smiled, taking her deck of cards from a pocket he was sure she didn't have there before.   
   
"And if I die before I can pay it off?" he asks, the life expectancy of Shadowhunters wasn't all that long.   
   
"Passes to your descendants, and in the lack thereof, to any other Lightwoods. And the system works both ways, for example: William Herondale did me a great favor back in the 1870's, now I owe all his descendants until my debt is paid. Same for the Fairchild's I think but I'll have to check my records."   
   
Jace perked up, quickly making the connections, he remembered something he'd read - a note - in his Biological father's box. It hadn't made sense at the time, some kind of binding to do with William Herondale and a Warlock he'd never heard of and couldn't be bothered to track down. He could have outed her right then, that she didn't just owe the family, she was bound to them for what ever reason, he didn't think the note went into all that much detail.   
   
"Why can't I give my favor in for Alec's then?" he asked instead, pushing to see how honest she was about who she owed what to.   
   
"I might let you in other circumstances, but it's always good to have a Lightwood in your pocket." she smiled, and on anyone else it might have looked malicious and cunning, but not on her. "Any who, best be off." she announced, placing the deck of cards into Alec's hands and standing up. She pulled on her coat and scarf, picking up her umbrella and putting on a bowler hat she wasn't wearing when she arrived - plucking all of these things out of thin air with little more than a scattering of blue sparks. "People to see, downworld to run, toodle-oo!"   
   
Only after she left the infirmary did they notice that she'd magically cleaned up after them, the blood and ichor they'd trampled in with them gone from the floor, and from their clothes and hair. They hoped she considered that one 'on the house'.   
   
"She never did say how she got in." muttered Jace, watching Alec begin to shuffle the cards.   
   
"And what did she mean, she's got a downworld to run?" asked Isabelle, looking to Alec.   
   
"Magnus is leaving Brooklyn" he explained as blankly as he could, now incredibly thankful for the deck of cards to fiddle with. 

* * *

Dionae simply vanished her outdoor clothes as the door to her townhouse clicked shut behind her - no mortals around to freak out about her clothes disappearing - and went straight through to the kitchen. She silently noted that, surprisingly, the decor was how she left it; warm, Victorian Gothic meets Georgian Art Nouveau, with maybe a little too much furniture and too little space to walk.   
   
The hearth in the kitchen and sitting room had gone out while she'd been away, so had the one's in the rest of the house by the feel of it. Magnus hadn't left, but he was certainly still here, still sulking, upstairs, in her bed, where she left him.   
   
With a wave of her hand and a flickering of blue sparks in the dim light, a blue fire leapt up in every fireplace in the house, announcing her presence, and the kettle started boiling. Hot sweet tea was her answer to everything emotional, and when that stopped working, hot chocolate and ice-cream in front of the TV. Magnus was usually stubborn and, well, bitchy after a breakup, but he didn't usually sulk for days on end. The last time he'd come to her to curl up in her lap like a child was shortly after an incident in Peru that he still refused to talk about.   
He didn't talk much about what happened with Alec either, but if she'd just taken on Manticore spawn he was going to bloody well spill his guts.   
   
When the kettle had finally boiled, she enchanted the two cups of sweetened ginger and lemon tea to float behind her as she ascended the stairs. All-Powerful Warlock? Yes. Spacially aware? Certainly not.    
   
Magnus had turned off the lights seemingly everywhere, but that didn't stop her from finding her own bedroom on the top floor of the house.   
   
She opened the door declaring "I saved Eurydice" and letting the cups set themselves on the bedside tables. She watched Magnus - who was shirtless and half-covered by a sheet of her now messy bed, laying face down - stiffen as he remembered the myth.   
   
He made a non-committal noise and pushed his face into the pillow, probably willing her to disappear. She didn't, instead she climbed into bed - having changed her clothes to something more sleeping appropriate - and lay half on top of him, pushing her arms round his shoulders.   
   
"He's alright?" he asked carefully   
   
She confirmed the positive with an 'Hmmm' sound and he shifted a little "Could have done it yourself of course." She said, already feigning settling into sleep.   
   
"Could have." he agreed   
   
They lay in silence for a while, and Magnus' hand came up to hold hers when he was sure she was asleep. The warm, sweet smell of ginger filled the room - a smell that some insisted already filled the entire house anyway and had sunk into her pores - and the fire had settled down to a low crackle.   
   
"He was going to make me mortal." He said, quickly and quietly, like it was good to get it out, even if she was asleep and not listening. "He didn't go through with it, wasn't going to even before I found out..." He hadn't cried, not yet, it had seemed far beyond that. "If he'd asked me about it I probably would have done it. For him." He took a shaky breath, which must have woken her because she drearily kissed his shoulder.   
   
"Don't cry, Moggy." She said, warm breath against his skin as she kissed him again, and without hesitation he rolled towards her and buried his face in her chest, Dionae moving to accommodate him, he was not weeping as silently as he wished, but it wasn't like she minded.   
   
Of all the people in the world, Dionae would understand how he felt, or she'd at least come the closest to it. Little more than a hundred years ago, Dionae herself had considered mortality, and not for a dissimilar reason. If the obviously magical tornado that had ripped through Chicago in 1881 was anything to go by it hadn't ended well.   
   
It had taken years to coax her out of The Spiral Labyrinth, and a couple more to get her to tell him what had happened.   
   
She made gentle sounds as he cried, rubbing soothing circles on his back. When the tears subsided, he didn't give away any intention of moving, just stayed where he was, listening to her heartbeat, and to the gentle hum of her magically placed tattoos. The closest to his ear was The Dragon; the serpentine, four legged, Chinese dragon that wound twice round her waist, intersecting the scales on her back and the tail flicking up round her left breast. The Dragon made a gentle cracking sound, like the embers of a fire, and was warm to the touch mostly.   
   
He fell asleep on her not long after she drifted off, both of them ignoring Chairman Meow as he scratched at the door.


	4. Gregory

_January, 1879 - London._

Damien wrapped his arms round the warm body beside him, pressing his nose into the soft sandy-brown curls at his partner's neck, kissing the skin he found there. The body made a contented 'Mmm' sound, holding the arms round his chest.

"Mornin' Damien." He said lazily, Texan accent slipping though in his sleepy daze.

"Morning, my love." He replied softly, holding a little tighter. Gregory tensed a little as he said it. Damien loosed his arms and leaned over him "What is it?"

"I wish you wouldn't, Sir." He said, sitting up and turning away. It was very early for them to be back to 'Sir'. Damien reached out and touched his shoulder tenderly, only for him to shrug it away.

"Wouldn't what?"

"Call me your 'love', Sir, it only reminds me that while I am yours you can never be truely mine."

"Gregory-"

"I could stay with you the rest of my life, but your life goes on for eternity, never aging a day over twenty-two, and Sir I... I cannot..."

"If you could become Immortal, would you?"

"For you, Damien, I would."

"And if I could become Mortal, would you ask it of me?"

Gregory rounded on him, his brown eyes glittering with the conflict he felt. "You can do that?"

"There is a spell, I'd still be a Warlock, but I'd only live as long as any mortal man, aging as mortal men do."

"You'd give up eternal youth for me?"

"In a heart beat."

Damien had not once complained about Gregory's tedancy to hold him down on the bed with his entire body, pushing them flush together, and now was no different. He let out a small moan as Gregory kissed him to dizziness for lack of air, holding the two of them tightly together beneath the sheets. He weapt silently above him as they kissed, far beyond happiness.

* * *

_Now._

Dionae gazed up at the ceiling, the memory in her mind's eye clear as the moment it had happened, as it would be for the rest of her life. But why she recalled it now was beyond her.

Magnus was sat up next to her, sipping Chai tea and reading a paper, both of which she susspected he'd magically stolen. "You know there's a paper delivered to the door if you wait another hour."

"Yeah, but that's all local news, I want world." he said, putting down his tea and spreading the paper wider.

"Dude. I have a TV and a computer downstairs." she said, folding her arms behind her head, enchanting the kitchen downstairs to start making breakfast.

He made a 'tsk' sound with his tongue. "When you said you could sleep for a week I didn't think you'd actually do it."

She sat bolt upright, he couldn't be serious. The spells yesterday had taken allot out of her, but a week? She didn't _have_ a week. "What?!"

He looked at her, feline eyes shining with mischief. "Git." she said, smacking his arm with no real malice behind it, rolling out of bed and dragging herself to the bathroom.

Magnus watched as she left, he didnt know exactly  _what_ she was doing, but she spent almost every waking hour locked in the loft apartment at the top of the house - He was pretty sure this had been three separate apartments before she'd bought it and returned it to its former glory with nothing more than a click of her fingers.

Occasionally he'd hear a deafening 'bang', or briefly smell fire, but sometimes the house would abruptly change dimensions or suddenly the view from the window would change to a forest or the top of clouds. Whatever she was doing, he guessed it must be slightly illegal, because when he asked, she'd said "I'm just doing some paperwork, you know, the stuff you didn't do when you were High Warlock?"

He didn't really enjoy lounging round the house on his own all day, especially not with De-de's damn parrot-thing squaking at him every time he walked past, but he couldn't leave the house, not with the Warlock equivilant of the FBI looking for him. 

It was times like these that he wasn't just glad, he was damn well lucky to have Dionae on his side; as one of Them she was privvy to more than she could ever say, so he'd been warned about the enquiry well before it had happened. It was being noted as an enquiry into Ragnor's death, but it was really about The Book of White. It belonged in the Spiral Laybarinth, Dionae said, but she also got this pained look as she said it, like she couldn't stand to have it near her, but couldn't bare to have it anywhere else.

He'd never asked why she was so desperate for him to keep the location of the book a secret, he'd learnt not to ask about her bizzare and questionably sane methods a long time ago, and just trust that the outcome wouldn't screw him over.

So when an old quill on the mantle above the fireplace picked itself up and, in mid-air, scrawled 'Demon Possession' followed by an address in flaming blue ink before it burnt itself out, scattering white ash across the coffee table, he wasn't of two minds when he grabbed his coat; he couldn't stand to just sit around doing nothing for a moment longer, and Dionae was so wrapped up in her own little world she wouldn't have felt the quill's enchantment, besides, he couldn't bare to break her away from her work.

* * *

Jace helped Izzy back onto her feet, having been knocked over by the demon as it tried to escape, only to take a seraph blade to the back of the skull from the pissed off girl. Cautiously, they went over to the guy, he'd been coughing and spluttering on the floor, choking up a good deal of blood as he did so. He looked like he'd been at a Jane Eyre themed fancy-dress party before he'd been dragged off by the demon.

Carefully Izzy placed a hand on his back "Are you okay?" she asked. Only to be waved off by a hand that had a _Voyence_ rune on the back of it. Izzy looked up at Jace, who was as shocked as she was.

"Thank you Miss," he choked out, texan slipping through in his accent, staggering to his feet. "But I'm quite all right."

He was taller than Jace, and broader in stature; he had a kind face and his brown hair, that had been combed neatly back at some point, curled a little at the ends; he looked somewhere in his mid-to-late-twenties.

He glanced the two of them over, flushing and averting his eyes away from Isabelle.  "Thank you for your help, Sir, Ma'am. Sorry to trouble you. I'll be on my way now."

"You can't just leave!" protested Isabelle, "Let us take you back to the Institute, get that checked out." she pointed at the blood seeping into his shirt round an icor and acid stained wound.

He looked down at his shirt, like he'd not noticed it before. "Oh my," he said, "Yes, I think that would be best Ma'am." He looked up from his wound, which seemed to be making him queezy. 

"What's your name?" asked Jace.

"Gregory Crawford, pleasure to make your aquintence." He offered out his cleaner hand, with a gentle smile."

Jace shook it "I'm Jace and this is Isabelle Lightwood."

"Oh, both Lightwoods? Do you-" he asked, and looked like he was going to carry on when... "Mr Bane!"

Jace and Isabelle span to follow his eyeline. Surely enough, Magnus was walking towards them, he frowned at Gregory in confusion.

"Damien's man?" he asked, carefully. Gregory flushed again.

"Gentleman's Gentleman, yes sir."

"You know Magnus?" Asked Isabelle, looking from the Warlock to the man who looked like he'd been dropped well outside of his time zone.

"Yes, he's an aquaintence of my employer." He said, when Magnus didn't respond, just regarded the man with intense slitted eyes.

* * *

Reluctantly Magnus accompanied the two Shadowhunters and Gregory back to the Institue. Isabelle had told him that Alec was still bed-ridden after the Manticore - not that he'd asked, but he was glad that there wasn't much chance of running into him, his heart couldn't take it.

He'd seen the  _Voyence_ rune on the back of Gregory's hand, and it had definitly not been there the last time he'd seen the man, but that didn't explain why he was _here_ at all, he'd been dead a hundred years at least.

Despite being dressed for the 1870's, Gregory didn't seem to notice a single thing about the world around him, or at least didn't find it odd. Which ruled out any recent necromancy, which was a start, but it hardly narrowed down the options.

"Mr Bane," said Gregory, as they walked down the halls of the Insitute "I must ask, how is Dr Marlowe?"

"Holed up in his room, setting fire to things and making things explode." He answered, unsympathetically, taking satisfaction in the way Gregory twitched. Both of them knew that's what he (both Damien and Dionae) did when they were inconsoably heartbroken, wheather anything productive or useful ever came of it was a different question. "Do you remember what happened? What you did?"

"My memory is somewhat a blur since... well since the Doctor he," Gregory checked Jace and Isabelle wernt' listening in. "He mentioned becoming mortal," he whispered. Clearly he wasn't aware of modern society, he still thought that he could be hung as a sodomite.

Magnus stopped in his tracks. It wasn't a surprise, this wasn't the first time he'd heard it, but it was the warm tone to Gregory's voice as he said it, he still loved Damien.

"I could call him," he said, quickly catching up with the group. "But he might not want to see you."

"Why wouldn't he- Oh no, I understand." he said.

* * *

While the Silent Brothers were healing Gregory, Isabelle and Jace had disappeared off to change out of their gear, and he waited outside the infirmary doors. He weighed the phone in his hand, having sent Dionae a short text with the barest of details. He debated wheather it had been the right thing to do at all, but then again, she would have found out eventually, he wouldn't be all that surprised if she'd found out the same moment he had.

"Magnus?"

Magnus span round. Alec was stood a little way behind him, looking as stunned as he felt.

"Alec." he said softly, before he could remember that he was supposed to be furious with him.

They just stood, staring at one another, both wanting to rush into the other's arms and forget anything ever happened. It could have been hours before someone else asked "Magnus?"

He snapped away from Alec, coming to face Damien Marlowe. The similarites between him and his female counterpart were endless. The way they spoke, their marks, their apathetic indifference to the rest of the world, their seemingly endless knowledge of everything. But somehow Magnus had never come to see the two as the same person, although no one who knew ever seemed to.

Despite who was waiting in the next room, Damien looked at him with a slight half-smile, folding his arms over his chest and catching the tail of his pipe between his teeth.

"What?"

Damien took the pipe out of his mouth "You look at him like he carries the sun itself in his back pocket."

Alec blushed, but asked "Are you and Dionae related?"

Damien hesitated "That's a long, complicated story that dates back to the times of Arthurian Legend." he said, giving Alec a half smile before turning to Magnus, "In there?" he asked, pointing to the Infirmary door.

"Yes but, the Silent Brothers-" Damien strolled straight past him "-of course..." Magnus sighed, he should have expected that.

Magnus and Alec followed Damien inside - still keeping a distance between them - where the Warlock stopped a short way from Gregory's bed.

Gregory was pulling a clean shirt on over his now bandaged chest as presumably the Brothers spoke to him. The shirt presumably belonged to Jace, he was the only one with clothes to even come close to fitting the seemingly half-giant man.

"That really does sound impossible, but I guess it isn't." he'd seen Damien the moment he'd walked though the door, and couldn't do much but stare as the Brother's continued to speak, but evidently they said something that brought the entirety of his attention back to him "I beg your pardon, Sirs!" he said, flushed red "But I'm sure I have no idea what Brother Zachariah is talking about." still blushing furiously, he turned to Damien and half stalked up to him "Sir," he said

"You've been out of my employ for a good long while now, Damien will do."

"Sir, I don't wish to be..." he stopped, the situation felt too... emotional to have in the company of strangers.

"You're a shadowhunter." Damien said, pulling the conversation away from the touche topic.

"I don't remember becoming one."

"I don't remember that either." Damien said, looking Gregory over, counting runes. "He is a shadowhunter?" he asked the brothers.

_Yes._

Was all they said, apparently there was nothing more to it.

"Shall we go?" he asked, turning on his heel to leave the infirmary, making it less of a question more of a 'I'm leaving, follow me if you like'. And follow him Gregory did. "You're supposed to be leaving Brooklyn." he reminded Magnus on his way out. Both of them knowing he had no intention of leaving Brooklyn at all, it was more for the sake of the Brothers.

* * *

 

Damien sighed contently as Gregory cuddled against the smaller man, both of them quite thoroughly - for want of a better phrase - fucked-out.

When it wasn't combed back, Gregory's hair was far softer than expected, and more of a warm, hair-dye-commercial, shade of brown. Damien ran his fingers through it and with each gentle touch, now the blinding passion of sex-with-Gregory was fading away, it felt like he was pulling at hooks attached to his own heart.


End file.
